Godschild Covenant: Return of Nibiru

by Marshall Masters

  * * * *

  VIGO HAD CAREFULLY loaded the camping equipment for Helen and her children towards the back of the truck. The large metal cases filled with Heroin and medical-marijuana for the Los Gatos Triage Center were stacked at the front of the cargo bed, covered with canvas tarps and lashed down. To be sure it wasn't disturbed, Vigo made the boy stand in front of the tailgate as he handed down boxes of supplies, survival gear and clothing. With everything unloaded, Vigo jumped down and closed up the back of his truck. Using a flashlight, he opened one of the specially marked cartons. It contained a military style web belt with a large revolver and a rugged survival knife, two boxes of ammunition, field cleaning kit, and a small whetstone for the knife.

  “Tim, our medallions are very powerful, but the fact is that you're going to be a novice with it for a while. Meanwhile, you're going to have to cover open ground during bad times. This might come in handy.” He removed the stealth gray finished revolver from its holster. “This is a Taurus seven-shot .357 Magnum Tracker.” He handed the pistol to the boy who took it with both hands. “Wow, it feels lighter than it looks."

  Vigo ran a finger down the barrel. “That's because it's made of forged titanium with a stainless-steel bore liner. It is also fitted for a scope, and the grips are ideal for a young fellow like you. They do a great job of absorbing recoil."

  “Man, this thing is a hand cannon!” Tim exclaimed.

  “It has enough wallop to stop most anything, which is what you're going to need where you're going,” Vigo replied. “It's simple, utterly reliable and about the biggest damn pistol a young fellow your size can handle.” He pointed at the box. “There is a cleaning kit, and there are three hundred rounds of ammo in the box, as well as a Simmons 2.5-7X scope. I suggest you go off away from here tomorrow and get it sighted in the way you like it. The instructions are in the box, as well."

  “This sure would give us an edge,” Tim said appreciatively as he hefted the weapon, “but my semi-automatic .22 rifle is still better for hunting small game."

  “You'll find a 500-round brick of .22 long rifle with copper jacketed slugs and a new cleaning kit for your rifle in the box as well."

  “I really want to thank you for this,” Tim said sincerely. “Feeding my family just got a whole lot easier."

  “Just use it wisely,” Vigo replied. “Now, let's get those tents up, as I've got to be heading down the road lickity-split."

  * * * *

  VIGO FINALLY ARRIVED at the Los Gatos main gate as several ice trucks, now converted to refrigerated morgue transports, continued on their way past the gate, onto Limekiln Gulch Road and on towards the quarry graves.

  The guard scanned Vigo's traveling orders. “We were told to expect you,” he grunted. He nodded toward the morgue transports. “They've been rolling through here for two hours. This is the first morning, and we're already sick of it.

  In time, the sound of the lumbering morgue trucks on their way to the quarry graves would become a routine part of life at the Los Gatos Triage Center and eventually ignored. However, this was the first operational day for the center, and in a few hours, a flood of sick and dying would come walking, riding, stumbling and limping through its gates.

  A heavy and ominous mood prevailed throughout the camp, as everyone went through his or her morning rituals in virtual stunned silence. It had begun.

  Anthony was sitting in the mess and nursing a mug of coffee when Vigo found him. “Good morning, Captain."

  Anthony glanced up and pushed his mug across the table towards Vigo. “I haven't touched it; if you like creamer with no sugar you're welcome. Ann-Marie is bringing me some hot tea instead.” He nodded in the direction of the service line and Vigo could see her preparing the tea.

  He accepted the mug and took a sip, “Just the way I like. Thanks. You might want to know that I just met Dr. Boole and brought him that contraband heroin from the DEA in San Diego along with a surprise shipment of medical-marijuana. We're talking boxes of the stuff. Good God, do you guys think that things will really get that bad?"

  Anthony waved his hand, “Trust me, you're going to be making more of these runs as time goes on."

  “So what exactly do you guys do with this stuff anyway?"

  “Heroin is the only thing we can give our terminal clients in the quarantine area for pain. The pharmaceuticals are reserved for recovering patients and terminal children. We give the terminals as much Heroin as they want short of a lethal dose because it also helps to suppress their cough response. This will help us to keep the 3G patients from infecting everyone else. As for the marijuana, it helps the other patients with nausea, spasms and whatever. If it weren't for that, we'd be competing with all the hospitals in the area for some rather scarce pharmaceuticals right now.” As the old saying goes, Anthony's words took the bloom off the rose.

  Vigo sat there staring at coffee. “This may sound crappy, but it makes me glad I'm driving out of here tonight for another run.” Ann-Marie joined them as Vigo added; “Now, all I need is a hot bath and a flop."

  “They won't be serving breakfast for another half hour, so you might as well go find Corporal Sharma,” Anthony replied. “He'll get you situated.

  “No need for that,” Ann-Marie said. She grabbed Vigo by the shirt collar. “Come with me, you big galoot, and I'll get you squared away. I suppose you're hungry as well?"

  “More tired than hungry,” he sighed with an exhausted look. “What I'd really love right now is a hot bath and a chance to enjoy some of my sweet condensed milk I got tucked away in the truck.” He knew Ann-Marie loved sweet condensed milk and wondered if she'd rise to the bait.

  She pulled him aside and said, “If you can rummage up two tins for yours truly, you can use the bathtub in my dome. Throw in another can, and I'll let you use my bunk, as my three roommates are not due to arrive until tomorrow. If you can deliver, it's just out the door and two domes to the left. Number 15."

  Vigo winked at her. “Do you have a brand preference?"

  “Oh Lordy, brand preference, is it now,” she said with an amazed voice. “Vigo, you are simply amazing. Let's just say I'd like something that says made in America and was canned sometime within the last 20 years, if that isn't asking too much. I'll see you at number 15 in say ten minutes."

  Vigo winked at Ann-Marie. “See you in ten."

  Anthony scratched his head. “Hey Ann-Marie, I don't think we'll have anything today. Everyone requesting assisted suicide will have to wait out a mandatory 24-hour cooling off period, so we can pretty much do as we please today. If you and the Sergeant want to go hang out together, that's fine by me. I'm going back to my dome for some more sack time, and then I've got a TV interview."

  “You know I think that O'Hara gal has got the hots for you,” Ann-Marie teased. “You be nice to her, and she'll make it worth your while."

  “She's not my type,” he groaned.

  “Well that depends on what you're looking for, honey cakes."

  Anthony looked up from tea mug with a twisted look on his face. “Honey cakes?"

  * * * *

  VIGO ARRIVED AT dome number 15 ten minutes later holding half a dozen tins of Carnation Sweet Condensed Milk in his arms. The front door was already half open, and he could hear the sound of bath water running inside and Ann-Marie humming one of her favorite tunes. He pushed open the door with the toe of his boot and stepped in as she peeked her head out from the bathroom. “All for me?” He smiled. “Then don't stand there like a lump on a log. Shut the damn door before everyone comes asking for some!"

  He sat the tins down on the counter in the small kitchenette at the back of the dome. She eyed them with a hungry smile. “Well, Mr. Whoever your name is today, shall we retire to the bathtub where I will wash and massage you, because you're a handsome fellow for bringing me such a fine bounty?” She began taking her clothes off, and Vigo's eyes sparkled as he stripped as well.

  She waited for him at the door to the bathroom and he moved close to her sayi
ng, “Ann-Marie, please just stand still for a moment; I want to enjoy this.” He softly ran the palms of his hands over her body, just millimeters above her skin. She tingled with excitement. “You are stunning as always. Feeling your life energy is so incredibly erotic,” he whispered as he continued moving his hands around her eager body.

  “You always were a smooth talker.” She grinned, slowly licked a finger, and then dragged it gently down the middle of his chest. “Today is your lucky day."

  * * *

  Into the Garden

  THE INTERVIEW WITH Rose O'Hara had gone smoothly. After all their interviews in New York, Anthony was used to her style and was now comfortable with being on camera. Before and after the interview he had paid special attention to the reporter's body language. Ann-Marie was right, she had a thing for him, and it would only be a matter of time before her cues would become a little more pronounced.

  While stationed in New York, he had slept with several women. Some because they were attracted to him and others who simply wanted him as a trophy lay. Either way, he never much seemed to care. Whenever he felt the urge, there always seemed to be a ready woman around the corner. It had earned him the kind of reputation that kept the really desirable women away, or at least the ones he desired. This time, he had his eyes on Tanya, which bothered him greatly. Although he didn't like his interest in her because he couldn't control it, he'd taken to going to meals when she would, just to look at her. Even though his mind screamed at him because she was untouchable, there was something about her that he just couldn't turn off.

  No matter how much he drank and argued about sports with Father Bennett, her face was always there in a dark corner of his mind. He reasoned that once he started doing his job again, it would pass, and then she'd become just another nobody to him. As he left the interview, he figured he'd give O'Hara a whirl in the sack as life slipped back into the normal grind of the surreal.

  Distracted by his own thoughts, he was caught wholly by surprise by a page from Corporal Sharma. He and Ann-Marie would not have the day off after all. Rather than call her, he decided to drop by her dome and give her the news personally.

  As he raised his hand to knock on the door, he could hear a man snoring lightly in Ann-Marie's dome. It had to be Vigo, he thought. From the sound of it, he was a very happy camper, indeed.

  Ann-Marie opened the door and put a finger to her lips. “Shhh ... Our Road Warrior has got a long drive ahead of him tonight. What's up?"

  “We have our first clients,” Anthony answered reluctantly. “I had hoped for a day of rest, but the hospitals in the valley know we're operational now, and they've send us our first three clients. All three are bed-ridden, and they've completed the mandatory 24-hour waiting period. We'll be doing lethal injections on these."

  She shook her head. “Darn, I was hoping to be here when he wakes. Oh well, duty calls. I'll get dressed, leave him a note and get the patients prepped. By the way, what do we have?"

  “Two adult males: a helicopter pilot with major 3rd degree burns and a drug-resistant HIV victim. The other is young girl with Chronic Methyl Mercury Intoxication. She's in a coma, and her parents are here with her. The girl will be first up."

  She sagged against the doorframe. “Our first client is a child. This is a bad sign."

  “Don't get maudlin on me,” Anthony replied firmly as he turned to leave. “Look, I know this is your first posting so let me give you some friendly advice. Keep it simple; stay focused, and the world will turn. Start getting wrapped up in all this, and you'll go crazy."

  “You're right,” she admitted sadly. “I'll be there in ten minutes."

  “See you there."

  She opened the door a bit wider to watch him as he walked away. Yesterday, he was pouring brandy for her and trying to get in her panties. Today, he was about his business and the playfulness of yesterday had vanished, only to be replaced by a grim sense of purpose. A child would be the first patient, and on top of that, they'd have to cope with the parents. Simple and focused notwithstanding, this was still a bad sign of things to come.

  * * * *

  ANTHONY FOUND TANYA sitting on the bench outside the dying dome with the girl's parents. Normally, a medical records clerk would handle the paperwork, but she wanted to do this herself for some reason.

  He stopped a short distance away and watched as she finished the consent form, sliding the webpad across the table to the parents for their thumbprints. The father was weeping so much that he couldn't bring himself to look at the form, so the child's mother read it and pressed her thumb down on the large, flashing yellow letters that read, “Press here to authorize assisted suicide for your child.” Emotionally numb, the despondent mother slid the webpad back across the table to Tanya and sagged against her crying husband.

  Anthony approached them and sat down on the bench next to Tanya, across from the distraught parents. He scanned the webpad and read it for a moment, then introduced himself in a soft compassionate voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Bledsoe, I am Anthony Jarman. I will be helping your daughter, Becky, cross over today. She will not suffer. It will be painless and quick."

  The father looked up at him and spoke for the first time. “The docs at the Kaiser Permanente Medical Center in Santa Clara are nice folk but I heard about you and what you can do. I've seen you on Fox News, and that's why we asked to have Becky transferred here, to this place.” His jaw began to quiver as he struggled to regain his composure. “Can we...” he paused as his wife used a handkerchief to lovingly wipe the tears from his eyes.

  “I'm sorry,” she said to Anthony, “I've already cried buckets of tears, more, as you could imagine, and my Charlie has been strong for me. Now he just doesn't have it in him to be strong anymore."

  Anthony gently placed his hand on her arm. “I understand. Losing a child is very difficult.” He paused to take a deep breath. He knew the next part would difficult for them, but it had to be done. “I'm required by law to explain the process to you before I can begin, so if you want, we can do this later."

  “No,” the father replied sadly. “Let's just get it done."

  “Very well,” Anthony replied softly. “I want you to know that this will be as gentle and quick as humanly possible. For children, we use a lethal injection. It is quick and painless, and she will not suffer. I can see here that she is already comatose, so thankfully she'll be spared much of the anxiety. So that you know she's crossed over, we use what is called an EEG, or electroencephalograph machine. Now here is the part that I'm not required to tell you by law; this is most likely why,” He referred back the to webpad, “why you brought your Becky to me for this procedure. In most cases, the EEG will flat line after the injection. However, what you will see today is that Becky will flat line before I inject the chemicals needed to stop her heart. In other words, I will help her to cross over before her body ceases to function."

  “That's what I heard you do,” the man blurted out. He sniffed back his tears. “But can we take her body with us afterwards?"

  Tanya answered for Anthony, “In non-infection cases like this, the quarantine does not apply.” She glanced at the webpad. “I see you've already designated a mortuary. I'll issue a death certificate and notify them to come and pickup your daughter's body this afternoon. After that, you'll be free to make whatever arrangement you choose directly with them. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Otherwise, we're ready to proceed."

  The mother nodded simply. Anthony and Tanya rose up, and she handed the webpad to a waiting orderly. The orderly left and returned moments later wheeling Becky's still body into a treatment dome, now simply called the dying dome. Ann-Marie walked behind the gurney carrying a covered tray.

  Anthony caught Ann-Marie's attention and tapped his head to let her know that she needed to connect the girl to the EEG. She nodded in acknowledgement and followed the gurney into the dome, closing the door behind her.

  “It will take my nurse a few minutes to prepare Becky,” He ann
ounced to the parents. “She'll let us know when everything is ready. In the meantime, can I ask you a few questions about Becky?"

  “Uh, sure,” the mother answered.

  “Can you tell me what are Becky's favorite flowers?"

  “Roses,” her father answered. “Before everything went crazy, we used to have a vegetable bed in our back yard next to the swing set. One year, when she was just six, I planted some mature rose bushes a friend gave me. He was in the construction business and didn't want to see them go to waste.” A sad smile came to his face as the memories replayed themselves in his mind. “She loved to have me push her on the swing, and we'd talk about the roses. She loved to admire and smell them, and we loved watching her do it,” his voice faltered as he drew a deep breath. “She loved to rub her fingertips softly on the pedals and to talk to them.” The tears began streaming down his face. “So much pain, so much pain."

  “You'll always have that,” Anthony said. “Not just for today, but forever. This is the way of beautiful memories. They are truly immortal, and I'm not saying it in a philosophical way."

  The four spent the remaining time waiting for Ann-Marie and talking about the suffering the poor child had endured. They had watched their daughter's symptoms go through one progressively worse stage after another, leaving a trail of woe that would haunt their memories for the rest of their natural lives.

  When the tsunami wave smashed through the San Francisco Bay Area, it smashed through the silicon chip manufacturing plants carrying thousands of gallons of liquid mercury with it. The Santa Clara area was the hardest hit, and Becky would prove to be the first of many thousands of children to die of mercury poisoning.

  The media called it the Mad Hatter's disease, from the term, ‘Mad as a Hatter,’ which was first coined during the 19th century. This was because hat-makers of the day were chronically exposed to the mercury compounds used in the manufacture of felt hats. Exposed to fatal amounts of mercury, the hatters would suffer tremors and then enter a psychotic state of hyper-excitability, and their central nervous systems were systematically destroyed by the heavy metal.